


Free | Medival Fantasy MCYT AU

by distressedchicken



Series: Free | Medieval Fantasy MCYT AU [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), mcyt
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Assassin Badboyhalo, Assassination Attempt(s), Assassination Plot(s), Blood and Injury, Character Death, Dead Ph1LzA, Developing Friendships, Emperor Skeppy, Freedom, Hand King Wilbur Soot, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt Wilbur Soot, Implied/Referenced Character Death, King Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), King Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Kings & Queens, Lonely TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Major Character Injury, Mentioned Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), No Romance, No Smut, On the Run, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, POV Third Person, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Past Character Death, Pirate Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Pirate GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Pirate Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Pirates, Potions, Prince TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Prince Wilbur Soot, Princes & Princesses, Respawn, SBI Family Dynamic, Sad Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Swordfighting, This is going to be really long, Travel, Undercover, Wilbur Soot Angst, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot is Not Okay, Wilbur Soot is not Fundy's Parent, like book style, minecraft stuff, no beta we die like Ph1LzA, ponk sells lemons, prepare for what youre entering my dood, will add more when i think about them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28662246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distressedchicken/pseuds/distressedchicken
Summary: After an unfortunate turn of events which leads their father, Phil(Ph1LzA), sacrificing his life, Tommy(Innit), Wilbur(Soot), and Techno(blade) find themselves attending a viewing. Phil’s sudden death takes their kingdom by storm, and being on the brink of war with another kingdom, certain measures have to be taken to ensure peace and safety. Will these brothers rise to meet their new challenges and responsibilities, or will they try to break free?-disclaimers : while this does include dsmp characters it does not revolve around dsmp plot, but rather mcyt relationships. this is also not about the real life people, it uses their online characters to tell the story
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Niki | Nihachu/Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: Free | Medieval Fantasy MCYT AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2100537
Kudos: 49





	1. The Blade of Truth

**Author's Note:**

> idea for a story i had and didnt feel like creating new characters for, so i decided to use dreamsmp characters, and other mycts as characters, for this story. i was very conflicted about posting this, but I liked it too much to let it rot in my notes app, SO HERE WE GO
> 
> hope you enjoy :>
> 
> ps. still rly new to ao3, so please comment if anything seems clunky

Nimble fingers brushed against the rough fabric of the dark grey cloak as it was pulled over thin shoulders. The boy’s arm fell heavily by his side, beneath the cover of his newly adorned coat. It was abnormally cold this summer evening, a dark bundle of clouds drifting over a melancholy kingdom, every once in a while letting a series of water drops fall onto its mossy, paved brick paths and rusty shingled roofs. It was as if nature was grieving as well, in its own, special way. 

The cloak provided no warmth, it was just a heavy, and attractive, reminder of what the boy would have to endure within the next hours. He could never understand why funerals were addressed in such dark tones.

The minimal light given by the day filtered in through a large arched window, casting its own shape onto the floor, intercepted by his own figure. The room was draped in shadow to where he could only just make out the shape of his furniture. He let his foot fall in front of him, slowly leaning his weight onto the outstretched leg as he started to pull the other forward. He paused mid-step. Drawing in a shaky breath, he sighed.

The clunk of his boots was the only sound in the spacious room after that. He led himself to a big, beautifully designed door. It was a path he'd traveled many times before and a path he'd travel for times to come. The boy felt he should dread each trip to the door. Leaving this grand room was like leaving a part of himself every time the door closed behind him. He could never mutter any remorse, however. The door featured a spiraling design that, at its ends, broke off into leaf-like points. The designs sprouted out from the corners of big outlined rectangles, closest to the doorknobs, of which he had gripped tightly in his hand. 

It was cold, as he'd been away from it for a sum of time. It's grooves fitted uncomfortably in his bare hand, and it was too small to sustain a good grip. The boy contemplated flinging it open and storming away down the halls of the vacant castle. However, he thought better on this idea and instead slowly turned the knob, flinching at its seemingly ear-piercing click against the tranquil atmosphere.

The sound alerted a tall man standing outside the room. As the door slowly opened and the boy stepped out, the man reached for him. The gesture, however, was turned down quickly as the boy trotted off past him, head cast down gazing blankly at the sway of his cloak.

<>

The man dropped his hand, and his shoulders slumped heavily with a sigh. “Dammit, Tommy.” He uttered quietly under his breath. 

He was tired. He hadn’t slept for such a long amount of time, he couldn’t even guess what day it was. Sunday? Tuesday? Was it even still August? Nowadays he’d spend his time writing off letters to neighboring kingdoms. Keeping peace was far more important than sleep.

After his father’s trip things had been so much more hectic. It was like everything around him was moving faster but time itself was slowing and days were becoming longer. The only thing keeping him sane was the soft tick of seconds passing on a clock, of which he hadn’t heard in a while. How much time had passed? How much work was he missing? He was almost convinced seven wars had started in his absence.

Before he could get too lost in his thoughts, he took off in the direction Tommy had disappeared. He felt bad for his brother, losing their father had taken a great toll on him, as it would on anyone. Their father, Phil was his name, was a great man. He always looked out for his sons, he would do anything. Even sacrifice himself to save one from injury. 

As the man rounded each of the corners the speed of his pace got faster. The air grew tense as his thoughts pricked at his spiking anxiety. He found it harder to let oxygen in his lungs. The heat of his clothing engaging his body. The force of his shoes hitting the ground became stronger. The rhythm of his breathing had lost it’s once controlled demeanor. His clock was forgotten. No seconds were being counted, no work was being done. No seconds. No work. No time. No peace. No father.

It hit him too fast. 

He stopped in his tracks immediately. The once loud slap of his boots against the concrete of the castle floors that boomed like dynamite to a deep mine shaft had quieted, leaving nothing but the pulsating silence in his ears, which burned almost unbearably. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing anymore. What were they going to do? Their father was gone, there was no more king to rule. No more tranquility. Their once pristine kingdom would surely shatter under his own rule, he could barely keep the kingdom's alliances and he hadn’t slept at all in between writing those letters.

He fell to his knees in the middle of the hall.

“Why would you leave us, dad? Why?”

<>

Tommy gazed blankly at the door in front of him. He knew what lay inside these chambers, but was he ready to witness it? There would be no gore, just a clean, cold body, ready to say it’s final goodbye before being taken away and buried where it would never see the light again. It was a sad truth, his father was gone, but he’d accepted it already. 

Tommy wasn’t there when Phil had been injured, but he had gotten to say goodbye before his father was gone. His life flickered out like a flame in the wind, passed in his sleep.

He’d cried, a lot really, and he was done. He wasn’t going to let himself be anymore vulnerable than some sobs alone in his bed. Tommy would walk into this room, bid this lifeless body goodbye and leave to fulfill his duties for the day. He dreaded his private lessons but at least it’d distract him from these events. 

He placed both hands on the doorknobs and slowly pushed the doors open, leading his body through the widening space. His footstep’s echo boomed through the wide empty auditorium. Tommy figured one of his brothers would have been here already. He felt intimidated by the atmosphere of such a grand room, and he started to regret leaving Wilbur behind. 

Tugging his cloak a little closer to his body in an attempt to salvage some warmth, he started forward, towards the small table which held his father’s lifeless body.

Tommy was right about no gore, his father had been cleaned up nicely. He was adorned in his silky green robes. His hair fell out of the bottom of a striped hat. His scruffy beard was combed neatly for once. His face was solem, no signs of pain, no signs of anything. His lips held no bright smile, his eyes, though closed, would have no light. Despite his attempt to be strong, tears would’ve fallen from Tommy’s eyes if he hadn’t heard the door open. 

His head snapped to the figure, standing rigid at the door. Tommy straightened himself up and wiped his face quickly, not wanting to be looked down on by his brother. “Where’s Will?” His tone was concerned, but the sound was distorted by the man’s scratchy and monotone voice.  _ He’s probably been crying too,  _ Tommy thought to himself. He merely figured the man would never admit to it.

“Coming,” He shrugged, turning back to his father's body, more quietly adding, “Hopefully…”

The boy could tell his oldest brother, Wilbur, was distraught—and tired most definitely. He wasn’t very good at hiding the deep bags under his eyes. After all, his father's death was so sudden and being on the brink of a war with another kingdom, lots of action had to be taken in such a short time. He doubted Wilbur even had the chance to grieve for their father.

The man at the door, Techno, made his way down the gradual steps. Heavy feet and flat soles produced booming footsteps. A slouched stance caused Techno’s own cloak to drag along the floor. He’d reached the podium, taking the space on the opposite side of Tommy. The boy met his eyes, pink and puffed, nearly matching the color of man’s hair. Techno's head bowed, glaring at the body beneath him. So tired. So  _ broken.  _

Tommy found himself shocked. This man, quick-footed and stealthy, always prepared for the most unpredictable circumstances, allowing himself to be so vulnerable. So visible.

The room suddenly felt so much colder, his hands, unclothed, tensed up and shook. He pulled them against his chest. The room he stood in filtered in pale grays, lit up by a beam of white highlights. The soft patter of rain had started once again as a breeze feathered in through the arched stone openings in the castle’s design. His hands failed to stop shaking. Could it have been the thought of the cold coaxing his body to react to the bitter, desolate  _ loneliness _ he felt? Tommy tried so, so hard, but he couldn’t save the tear that fell from his eye. 

Tommy knew their father’s sudden death was going to impact their lives in irreversible ways, he just wished that he had someone stable to look to in these hard times. 

Wilbur had been so busy working in Phil's place while their father and Techno had gone for a hunting trip, he hadn't had much time to converse with Tommy during the times they'd seen each other. Wilbur whisking away to finish up a letter to be sent out that night. 

And ever since Techno returned with the injured Phil, he too locked himself away. Buried in grief. Tommy always figured, though it bit him with envy, that the rosey haired man had the closest relationship with their father, though Phil would never pick favorites. 

Another wave of utter misery wracked his body. He could feel his face wretch up as he convulsed with a sob. Hot tears started streaming down his face, delivering the warmth he'd longed for since waking up this morning. He felt so weak and so  _ small,  _ standing there in the hall with his father’s dead body and Techno across from him. It was pitiful to imagine how he looked to the older man, shivering as the moisture melting from his face soaked into his beautifully designed cloak. Tommy brought his hands to his mouth, digging his knuckles against his quivering lips, in an attempt to quiet the wails that left him every time he shivered.

And then arms enclosing his body, tightening as he stumbled, held him against the torso of a man taller than him. Tommy buried his head into this person’s shoulder, letting his own hands fall back to his chest, the sob flowing freely in the comforting, stabilizing hold. 

He didn’t need to question the identity of the person hugging him, because he already knew. Techno had never left his place.

<>

Techno gazed on as Wilbur took a crying Tommy in his arms. Will’s own face holding nothing less than pain and loss. Techno wondered if his own expression matched theirs, wavering his image of strength.

Techno wasn’t afraid of showing his emotions, but he just felt this time it would’ve been better to put on a brave face for the comfort of his siblings. His head fell again. It hurt, to stare, but he couldn’t help wishing that the man would open his eyes with a smile and laugh about how it was a joke all along.

That would never happen, would it? He should just leave, there was nothing left here. Nothing left with Phil. 

A sigh left his sparse lips. Techno raised his head to catch Wilbur’s gaze. The tall brunette’s eyes narrowed with a worried look. Techno bowed his head to him, and Wilbur shuffled Tommy under his arm, leading him away from the podium set for the viewing. Techno beckoned to a woman in a long dress, dusty at the end of the skirt, who held a broom and a dustpan. He informed her quietly to bring in staff so they could transport Phil’s body to the burial site. 

* * *

Techno watched on as heavy-set men carried in a grand coffin. Ever so carefully moving the table's remnants into its cushioned pit. Techno couldn’t try to point out a hair that had even shifted as Phil was transported downwards. 

Without even the air of recklessness, the two men took to both far ends of the coffin, lifting it seemingly effortlessly. Despite a quieted grunt, Techno would’ve believed it was weightless. Boots clicked as they took into motion. The men carried it out of a back hall, and he followed with distance, not wanting to get into their way. 

The hall dragged along with smooth, stone walls, dimly lit by candles held in metal cages protruding every other ripple of a repeating wood planked outline. It was an old passage, Techno analyzed, with cracks running deep into the stone, and the wood so obviously rushed in its production—it didn’t even fit against the walls. He decided he’d have this redone within time. 

The rain could be heard echoing through the narrow stone, light now but would without a doubt pick up soon. He braced himself as he made his way out of the door behind the men, the rain dropping into his hair, darkening it’s light color.

A carriage awaited, at the back side of the castle. Techno stood heavily on the damp and soggy grass, a hand tucked tight to his side on the hilt of his sword. Two tall horses stamped at the ground and sputtered breaths, the sound reverberating off of the layered castle walls as splashes of mud erupted at their hooves. Armoured persons stood on hold, preparing for the march to the burial site. The rain pelted their heavy plates, running off of their stiff bodies as if they were only statues. The coffin was loaded onto the carriage and slid to a secure spot where it wouldn’t be disturbed or wetted along the rocky trip.

Copious members of house staff approached to bid Techno a safe trip and a last goodbye to his father. He shook their hands, patted their shoulders, wished them well, but he couldn’t help the bile that rose to his throat at the undeserved grief and sorrow these people held to Phil’s death. They weren’t close to him. They didn’t  _ know _ him, like Techno did. He attempted to distract himself by playing with the damp locks of pink falling over his shoulders.

After pleasantries, he made his way for the seat inside the carriage. He took hold of a railing by the small wooden door. Quite ungracefully, his foot slipped on the step due to his distraction and the collecting rain, eliciting a “Careful, your grace!” from the last of the crowd of workers. He unenthusiastically hulled himself into the cushioned seats with a grunt. The sturdy box allowed him shelter from the everfalling wet drops. 

The driver took to the reins of the horses, letting off a holler to signal the march. The rumble of movement shook the place where Techno sat, and then they were off.

<>

The only sound throughout the empty, spacious halls was the shuffle of boots and short foot steps. This accompanied the quiet sniffling as Wilbur guided his younger brother to the boys room once again. 

The silent halls only made Wilbur on edge. When had it ever been this quiet? 

_ Oh,  _ he thought to himself, their staff would be bidding Techno off for the burial. The thought stung his chest, it did every time he reminded himself of his father’s parting, and it always would. Because that’s how it always is when you’ve lost someone forever. 

Wilbur was pulled from his darkening thoughts by the soft click of a doorknob. Tommy unlatched himself from Wilbur’s embrace and traveled into his room, Wilbur followed. Wilbur could tell the chambermaids hadn’t yet visited this room which told from the dishes left on the table from last night's dinner and the untidy bed due to a night of restless turning. The unlit fireplace provoked a dull shadowy atmosphere added onto by the dust drifting through the air, caused by a breeze wandering in through the cracked window. 

The rain had grown stronger during their trip across the castle, hitting the glass harshly, opting for loud and annoying pattering. Wilbur’s first line of action came into play as he made his way lazily to the arched window. He noticed Tommy sitting himself onto the soft cushions of his bed. Wilbur gripped the latches firmly in his hand, glaring out through the distorted glass panes, the view of the town from their castle clouded in fog and the dripping raindrops. He closed it quickly as the wind brushed against his hand, pulling back to draw the curtains as a second layer.

The room was dripped in a dark tinted red from the scarlet drapes. Wilbur let out a heavy breath as he stepped away from the window, starting for the fireplace.

“You get some rest, Tommy,” his voice drowsy, he paused grabbing a set flint from a shelf over the pit, stacked with wood, “I’ll have your lessons called off for the day.”

He hit the flint rock against a long block of steel, heated sparks flying against the slightly charred logs of wood. It ignited a small flame that grew into a dazzling light within the span of mere seconds.

“Will Techno be okay, Wilbur?” Wilbur heard the boy's wavering voice come from the far side of the room. 

“What makes you ask that?” Wilbur questioned, forming his lips into a small smile. His hands came to his knees, pushing himself to a standing position. His shoulders hang forward still, slouched. 

“T—The rain is coming down harder now… I just want to make sure he’s safe,” Tommy stuttered as if being caught doing something he shouldn’t. Wilbur gave a genuine smile to that, resting his hands against his own back, bending in a stretch. He turned to face the boy. Tommy still sat in the same position, his eyes locked to the crackling fire, his blue eyes lit up with the reflection of the flames. Wilbur walked to sit next to his brother, the sound of his boots tapping against the stone floor echoing rhythmically in the sized room.

The bed dipped with his weight as he sat down. “Techno will be fine,” He reassured as he considered the circumstances. Wilbur rested his hand on top of the boy’s bright blonde hair, “Rest, Tommy.” 

Wilbur felt himself being pulled forcefully into a drawled yawn. The action ricocheted onto the younger boy as he nodded in agreement. “But only if you get some rest too, Will.” His tone was sure and determined. 

Wilbur settled him off with soft, “Okay,” and made his way for the door. His hand twisting the knob, the door cracking open.

“Love you.”

Wilbur’s head fell, his hair leaving his face as it was pulled by gravity. His smile faltered for a moment before he forced it to coat his features once again.

“You too.”

* * *

The door creaked loudly as Wilbur pushed his way into his study. The pale, midday light illuminating the room through a high window. He glared at his desk from the doorway, dread sneaking up the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. He sighed loudly, rubbing his eyes hard with his right hand. The stress in his limbs is numbing, the curve in his spine deepening.

The quick tick of his clock plays like a melody, allowing him something to focus his tired brain on. His worries, his pain, it all seem to lift with every movement of the hand.

_ Tick. Tick. Tick.  _

Maybe he should rest, he’d earned it hadn’t he? After tireless nights of reading, writing, reading, writing… the death of his father… it’d be enough to drive someone insane. Maybe he  _ had _ gone insane.

_ Tick. Tick. _

Wilbur sat onto a cushioned wood bench on the right side of the wall next to the door. His shoulder strained as he rested his hand onto its velvet stained fabric, he lowered himself to lay on his back. Wilbur let his head fall onto the pillow. Though his back ached from sitting up in bad positions for such a longtime, the tingling pain crawling along his backside was lulling. It crawled through his arms, up his thighs, filling to his chin. So, so comfortable. 

His eyes drifted closed, and, without his consent, he drifted too. 

_ Tick. _


	2. Remnants of the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed that the last chapter seemed to move really fast, so I tried to bring it down a few notches for this one by adding less PoV changes
> 
> enjoy :>

The quiet swish of transparent curtains dancing as a hot fall breeze swept in through open balconies. A repetition of a sound tapping restlessly against the charming, carved table, littered with pages and pages of writing. A figure sat in the middle of all of them, near buried in the unwelcome  _ boredom  _ that came with just a glance at the piles of work. 

A king,  _ an emperor _ , shouldn’t have to deal with these tasteless tasks. 

“Why did I ever decide to take this city?” The man questioned with an exaggerated sigh, falling back over his chair, accessories clinking from the movement. 

“That’d be the riches, your grace,” commented his head guard, an anthropomorphic cat, his whiskers twitching in resigned amusement.

The king’s mouth molded into a mischievous grin, “You’re right on that one, Antfrost. You never cease to be knowledgeable about me,” He praised his loyal protector. 

Being honest to himself, he really wouldn’t be sitting in this fortress if it didn’t give him power. The thrill of “ _ emperor _ ” was too much to resist. He could, metaphorically, bathe in all of the gold at his fingertips and  _ on _ his fingers.

You could never find this man not drowned in the most beautiful silks and dazzling jewelry money had to offer. Even now, alone without the presence of a peasant in sight.

A neck piece of polished metal drapes over his shoulders, covering his chest partly. Gold tinted braces hugged his thin biceps, and a translucent flowy cape draped from his backside, attached to his hands via a series of jeweled, crystalline rings. 

“You don’t suppose I could just  _ pay _ someone to answer all of these letters for me?” He complained, picking up one of the envelopes.

Antfrost scoffed. “I’m no advisor, m’lord, but don’t you think it’d be irresponsible to put private letters in another’s hands? Those may contain important information that could lead in  _ overthrowing _ you.” 

The emperor flicked a shiny hand at the feline in dismissal to the input. “Only joking,” he remarked with distaste. His eyes glared over the parchment he had gripped delicately in his hand. This had a different texture than the paper produced on the northeastern coast—where his city got their supply from.

Yes… this was different.  _ Foreign _ . 

He raised it so the sun could pour through the paper, making its contents visible to his eye. He could see the silhouetted circular outline of the wax enclosement on the other side and the small blurred scribbles of cursive writing sprawled along the sheet of paper inside.

He turned the envelope over, gazing at the emblem embedded in the dark, velvety red wax. “Agh!” He squeaked in sudden surprise. His guard reached his side within seconds.

“What’s happened?” Antfrost gazed over the letter in the king’s hands, his voice faltered with revelation, but he was quickly recomposed. 

“Open it, your grace!” The guard encouraged him.

The letter came from an allied ruler. In the emperor’s first seek of power the man of the kingdom had greatly helped him in requiring army men. And even when it had failed over there, the man still had faith in him and sent him overseas to try again. 

Together they were a force to be reckoned with, but the emperor still was almost scared to open the letter. Could this be a call to arms? Could the man be throwing him to the side? He got shivers as he considered the possibilities.

Carefully, he peeled the wax apart from the parchment, lifting a flap along with it. He hesitantly pulled the note out of its confines. The folded paper now lay in front of him. 

“Could you read this for me, Ant?” The king confided, and with a short nod, the man reached a furry paw out to grab the letter. Before long, he began reading.

“Dear, Skeppy.

I have sent this to you with my utmost regard that you will take kindly to the news I am giving this message. It has come to my knowledge that within this week, our old pal, Phil, has been pronounced dead.

The official cause has not been released by the royal family, but rumor states he was out on a hunt when the hog they preyed turned on one of his own and he got impaled trying to protect them. 

Now comes to the reason I’ve had this information delivered in the first place. Their kingdom has been vulnerable. They’ve not even crowned the new King, yet I assume by the time this letter reaches you things will be turning into motion. I feel that this may be a time to take back the North once and for all, but I can not do this alone…” As his guard continued to read the message aloud. He listened intently to the plan his ally had inked onto the paper. He took it into his hands as Ant finished reciting the words, scanning his eyes over the neat, curved letters. 

The rings on his fingers clicked as he rubbed his chin, tongue curling with a  _ click _ , and a grin spreading across his face. Antfrost gave him a knowing look, tilting his head in an ask of permission to use the quill and paper he had at hand, on his messy desk. Skeppy nodded his head and the feline made way to quickly drawing the parchment from a stack and sprawling a note across. 

“May death bring you mercy, Techno _ blade. _ ” 

  
  


<>

  
  


Techno awoke, startled. 

This wasn't the first time, however. Ever since his father’s burial nearly two weeks prior, they came brutally each night and pulled him out of sleep anxiously. The _ nightmares.  _

It was the same every time. Phil, rushing in to save him… the blood coating his own clothes as he carried his father back to the hunting party… the breathless huffs of air coating Techno face as he held Phil’s head in his lap, the nursing lady tending to the wound… the faces of his brothers the night of the funeral. 

The light haired man sat up in his bed, blankets pooling around his waist. He ran a distressed hand through his shoulder length locks in an attempt to calm himself. He really needed a haircut.

Techno pulled himself off the bed, deciding that getting ready would be a better distraction from the bad dream. Making his way to the wardrobe, he stripped his torso of sleepwear. He pulled open the cabinet, at about the same time the door opened with a harsh  _ swish _ . In sauntered an older lady, one of the chambermaids he assumed. 

Techno gave a startled gasp and pulled a shirt over his head to quickly cover himself. The woman laid a small basket onto a table and made her way to the window, pulling it open to allow light to fill the room. 

“You’d think privacy would be a privilege to the royal family,” he remarked with dulled irritation. 

“I’ve been working in this place longer than you’ve been alive, your highness. You don’t want to know just how many times I’ve walked in on your father in undesirable states,” She remarked resting her hand on her forehead in vacant attempts of disappointment. 

“Undesire— I don’t even want to know...” He cut himself short, tying up his shirt.

The woman spoke again, “Your coat is with the laundry,” she motioned to the basket she’d set on the table, “I picked up word of a meeting you’ll be attending within the next fifteen minutes, I’ll leave you to get ready.”

And again she was through the door, whisking it shut with a click. Techno reckoned he’d never met her before, so to learn she’d been here his entire life, in and out of the rooms before they returned for the night to rest, was daunting.

When Techno was a child he always thought it was magic. He still remembers the first time he’d been able to comprehend that his room had been altered after he returned to it. In a panic, he ran to Phil, crying that there was something stealing all of his toys. His father comforted him, told him that his toys weren’t gone and he’d be able to play again in the morning. Sure enough, they had in fact not been stolen, but Phil had never deterred his worries about something strange moving his stuff whenever he left in the evenings for dinner, or his lessons in later childhood. He ended up believing it was all magic up until his early teenage years, when he’d walked in on a young maiden, no doubt behind on her schedule, tidying his bed. She frequently apologized for intercepting  _ his _ schedule, he merely dismissed her with a “No worries,” and offered to finish up while she moved along for the day. Techno nearly laughed at himself for being so naive and he reeled at the memory of the awkward conversation, it was really never his strong point.

He needed to get ready.

Techno repeated the process of replacing his sleepwear for the lower part of his body, adding socks somewhere in the mix. He pulled his coat over his shoulders, making his way to a small vanity, he clasped the opening flaps together with a small, golden colored chain. He grabbed a brush from the wood surface and tamed his hair, leaving pink strands between its bristles. He’d trash them later, he noted. The rosey locks were quickly tied up with a red ribbon. Techno pulled on his boots before taking stance in front of the door, with a deep breath, he left the room and made his way to find Wilbur.

  
  


The halls had started to feel less desolate, the light was less gray when it shined through the windows. More people weaved their way back and forth between the castle. Visitors from alliances and other lords arrived for business. The doors in the main hall were even open to commoners for charity, work, and mailing purposes once again.

Techno was still bitter. The fast recovery after their king’s death was a sign of great strength, but to Techno it was too fast. He needed it to be quiet again. He wanted the world to be just as broken as he was. Perhaps that’s why he found himself standing outside of this door.

His father’s old office… Wilbur had moved his things in here a week before. No traces left of Phil. Maybe Wilbur had meant for it to be that way. 

Techno opened the door, heads in the room snapped to him. 

“You’re late,” a voice drawled maliciously, Techno gulped uncomfortably. He made his way quickly to sit by Wilbur, “You’d expect the King-to-be would care enough to be present on discussing matters of his own inauguration.”

“Only by two minutes, no worries,” Wilbur responded, tapping the book in front of him as Techno pulled out a chair and sat heavily, “We were busying ourselves anyways.”

The council was small, with only three people at the table, besides Wilbur and Techno himself. Nevertheless he was greatly intimidated by the presence of the greater lords. This was a serious matter, how had he let himself sleep late? 

Wilbur drew open the book, reading off different ceremonial processes and their rules, Techno listened as intently as he could. Invitations had been sent out already, perhaps that was why the palace had been bustling so.

The air was tense and professional, no one spoke out of turn. Techno stayed silent, what would he have said? They probably assumed he didn’t care to listen, he could already feel the remark from the outspoken lord creeping up the back of his neck. Though the glare settled on him was enough to tell anyone this man didn’t have kind feelings towards Techno. He didn’t know why.

The room had gone silent. Techno felt sweat pouring down his back, the coat was so hot. It took him a moment to realize they were waiting for him to speak.

“I-- Um… Cou--Could you repeat the question?” His voice wavered and fell off quietly at the end of the sentence. The aggressive lord slammed his fists on the table. 

“I don’t even understand why you lords have negotiated this kid to be the King of this state!” The man snapped suddenly, “Wilbur is the rightful heir.”

Wilbur’s hand dropped onto the pages and Techno’s head bowed. 

Another one of the lords at the table spoke, “Schlatt, This is sudden…” Followed by the other, “Why didn’t you express these concerns at the previous meeting.”

In his peripheral vision, Techno saw Wilbur clench his rested fist. Wilbur spoke, though his expression was kind per usual, his voice spat venom, “You know I couldn't rule this kingdom, even if I tried. Techno is fully capable of the task, and I’ll be right at his hand to help him through anything,” He paused, “And Techno is no  _ kid.  _ As you are aware, this kingdom itself has been ripped between the hands of people in this region for centuries, heritage means nothing. The only thing that will matter in the end is that Techno is able to keep this city under our hands.”

And suddenly the room was too hot. Silently Techno felt like his world was caving in under the sharp, expectant glares of the lords around him. 

_ King. _

He was going to be King. 

It was too much pressure. If even one of their most trusted alliances didn’t have faith that he could do it, how could he protect a whole city of people? At least Wilbur seemed to have faith in him, although Techno’s mind screeched that he was just using Techno so he wouldn’t have to take Phil’s place instead. 

Too fast.

It was moving too fast.

“Right then, we can finish up preparations tomorrow, the coronation will be taking place this Saturday.” He heard Schlatt conclude. 

  
  


Techno was back in his room, the fixed sheets and tidied vanity suggesting that the elderly maiden had returned to shape up. 

He couldn’t help but feel like they had accomplished nothing during the meeting, perhaps that was why their allied lord had suggested finishing the following day. Everyone was riled up, he knew there needed to be space. Phil’s absence still left everyone tense.

Techno pulled the ribbon from his hair, grunting as it caught a knot. He unclipped his coat and draped it over a chair with little care. Despite it only being afternoon and the fact he’d slept in, he was tired enough to sleep through the entirety of Fall.

He collapsed onto his bed, his brain succumbing to tiredness. He fully expected to be scolded by Phil when he was hopefully awoken for dinner, but even his father’s anger couldn’t make him care enough to pull himself from the comforting sheets.

Then he remembered that his father wasn’t there, that he himself would be taking his place as King, carrying on his duties. So, Techno pulled himself from his bed, fumbling for the shoes he realized shortly that he’d never taken off, and parted from his room to check on the workers within the castle.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading this chapter :>, here are some notes until the next one  
> *chapter updates should be every other week  
> * I will upload this to completion, so if i miss an update dont worry, the story will still update eventually  
> *i have a twitter for this account, i will try to post when updates when updates are coming out and if i have to miss an update - @distressedchic1


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